


Mythology

by paraduxks



Series: winter spamano 2020 [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Art, Attraction, F/F, Flirting, Meet-Cute, Painting, Sort of? - Freeform, america if u squint, chiara has issues, chiara would like to be an artist still at this point in her life, fuckboy lesbian spain, winter spamano 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:07:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27991251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paraduxks/pseuds/paraduxks
Summary: Chiara attempts to paint a mural. Fuckboy lesbain Isabela ensues.
Relationships: Female South Italy/Female Spain (Hetalia), South Italy/Spain (Hetalia)
Series: winter spamano 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2040626
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	Mythology

Chiara hiked up her shorts. She would love to use her shirt to rub away the sweat from her back, but then everyone would know she’d been sweating. Sure, it was natural- It was July, and Rome had the habit of being very warm in July- but a sweat stain might ruin her look. Then she’d be as ugly as her painting. 

It was the third day she’d been out here, and the hottest yet. As she worked, the air before her eyes waffled and beads of sweat rolled from her forehead to her lips. The salt provided an illusion of sustenance. It wasn't like she was starving, though, as she took a gelato break every afternoon. There was a spot, not far from the wall she  was supposed to paint, that had very good gelato. What was she supposed to do,  _not_ take advantage of her proximity to quality sweets? It provided some relief to her shoulders, anyway.  This was her first public mural, and painting with sore shoulders would be worse for the project than her art skills . 

But her art skills weren’t the point, she told herself. It was the  _concept_ that counted- The quality of which Chiara remained on the fence about. It was a street-art version of the Sistine Chapel ceiling, but with Roman mythology. Chiara wasn't sure the ideas meshed, but whatever. It was a job. And the guy paying her was some rich American, so. 

Her task was to paint ten scenes of his choosing- Which lacked narrative cohesion, by the way. What did the whole “wolf raises the brothers that build Rome” have to do with that thing Jupiter had going on with Io? But it was  _fine_ , she thought. She couldn't complain yet, anyway, as she was only on the first panel. Her irritation would be able to play out over the rest of the summer, if she managed to finish the damn wolf. Getting the fur right was fucking impossible-  _It's fine._

Chiara took a step back, surveying her work. God, the wolf looked stupid. Its eyes were too human. Too smug, staring back at her.  She clenched a fist around the paintbrush in her hand, a dark voice telling her to splash black over everything .  _No, Chiara-_ She thought,  _Focus_ _._ It would be harder to start over on black. She’d have to put white over everything again- Then her eyes settled on the wolf's haunches.  _Wow, have you ever actually seen a dog? Did you ever pay attention all those times you dog-sat for Feli?_ Fucking Feli.  _He’d know how to paint a fucking dog._

She spun around, panting, and snapped her paintbrush in half. It  was broken before she noticed. Somehow, it did wonders for the pressure in her chest.  _Damn, I’m strong,_ Chiara thought, then  _Damn, that brush was expensive_ _._ She surveyed the pieces in her hands. Could she salvage the working end? 

“You good there?” Someone asked, and Chiara jumped, brandishing one half of her paintbrush. Heat ran up her spine, shame filling her cheeks with warmth. “Woah, hey, I’m  just checkin’ in on ya.” At the end of her paintbrush was a woman who made everything behind her fade away. Loose brown curls framed her face, and she wore the ugliest floral romper known to man under an open flannel. 

Chiara glanced up at her face, where she found an overconfident smirk. She glared back, crossing her arms. 

“I’m fine,” She said, “What’s it to you?” 

“I was  just checkin’,” The woman said in accented Italian, “‘Cause you kinda went ham on that paintbrush.” She pointed, and Chiara followed her gaze, staring at the splintered wood in her hands. Heat prickled harder at her cheeks. 

“I did,” Chiara muttered. “Fuck, I’m- I’m sorry you had to see that.” The woman laughed, tossing her head back. And what a good laugh it was. It made her hair bounce. 

“No, no- Don't apologise. It was cute.” 

“Cute?” Chiara asked, venomous.  Her expression of anger at the possibility that she might fail her first art commission,  therefore gaining a bad name for herself,  therefore _fucking_ herself was cute ?! Not on her watch. “I’m never cute. Don't even know what the word means.” 

“Well,  I think you’re cute,” The woman said with a wink. Chiara hated the way her breath hitched. Was she thirsty, or was it the heat? She glanced down, letting her hair fall into her face.  Unfortunately, Chiara caught sight of the woman’s footwear- Rainbow crocs and knee-high socks . Definitely the heat. 

“Th-Thanks,” She said, unable to come up with anything else. 

“Aww, so you do know what ‘cute’ means!” Chiara sighed  deeply , and brought her eyes back to the woman’s face. 

“Yes, I’m not a child.” 

“I could tell that from your vocabulary. And your…paintbrush-breaking skills,” The woman said. She gave Chiara a once over, eyes trailing from her head to her feet, then back up again. Chiara felt under a microscope, breath caught in her throat, and warm all over. But it was sunny out, and she wasn't  _that_ attracted to a stranger. 

“My name’s Isabela,” The woman said, extending a hand, “Isabela Fernández Carriedo.”

“Chiara. Vargas.” Chiara shifted the paintbrush pieces to her left hand, then took Isabela’s hand with her right. Oh, her skin was warm. Unlike the sun's heavy rays, it was a loving warmth. Isabela had the hands of someone who spent a lot of time cooking- Her palm was hard yet smooth against Chiara’s. Not at all like the American’s hands, which were rough like old leather. Isabela’s hands redeemed her, so far. 

“Hello, Chiara Vargas. What’cha workin’ on there?” Chiara cringed, tightening her grip on Isabela’s hand. 

“Oh, that,” She said, “It’s a stupid art commission. I don't want to talk about it.” 

“Ooh, an art commission. Am I in the presence of the next…Uh. The next Machiavelli?” What? Chiara cocked her head to the side in confusion. 

“Machiavelli?” She asked. What did she have in common with Machiavelli?

“Yeah. He was a painter? Did the Birth of Venus?” Chiara cackled at that- No, he didn't! God! Gorgeous and funny.  The gorgeous ones were never funny, and the funny ones never fit her definition of gorgeous…

“Did-” Chiara gasped through her laughter, “Did you mean- Boticelli? I sure hope you did-”

“Yes!” Isabela snapped, “That’s the motherfucker!” 

“Please learn some art history!” Chiara gasped, at the tail end of her laughter. 

“Only if you teach me,” Isabela said with a smirk. Chiara choked, feeling once again like she was under a microscope. Isabela wasn't good for her heart, she decided. Unfortunate, given Isabela was also kind of hot. 

“I don't get the sense that you’d be a very good student,” Chiara teased back. Okay, she was flirting. She could do this. Flirting was easy. Well. Flirting with men was easy. How often did she flirt because she liked someone? Not enough to do it well! She gave herself ten minuted before she ruined the conversation. 

“Oh?” Isabela asked, tilting her head to the side. She tapped her bottom lip with one finger. And what a good bottom lip it was. “I was a pretty good student in university. And with you teaching me?” Isabela’s eyes raked her body again. Chiara shivered, and dared to let herself wonder a little more about Isabela. She hoped she was gay. “I’d never lose focus.” 

“Do-” Chiara choked, swallowing. That was a dangerous thought-  _Do you want to get gelato?_ Actually, was it? What was the harm in asking? 

“Do you want to get gelato?” Fuck. Isabela grinned  wolfishly . 

“Oh, Chiara,” She said. Chiara would later scream into a pillow about how good her name sounded on Isabela’s tongue. “I’d love to.” 

“Oh,” Chiara sighed, “Um. Cool, ‘cause. I want to too, y’know?” 

“I do know!” Isabela said. Chiara sighed again, but this time out of irritation. 

“Great,” She said, “I’d fuckin’ hope, cause I did  just ask, but whatever. Uh, okay, wow. Awesome, actually! I’m gonna- I’m gonna set this down now, okay?”  Chiara gestured with the broken paintbrush, then returned it to a palate with the rest of her supplies . She returned to Isabela’s side. 

“Are you familiar with the gelato scene around here?” Isabela shook her head. 

"Not at all. Guess you'll have to teach me." 

"Good for you, I'm better at finding gelato than painting," Chiara said, trying to keep her tone light. 

"Oh,  I don't think that's true," Isabela said, " I think you're a great artist, actually. The wolf you had going on there reminds me of old-age stuff." Were they looking at the same wolf? And what did she mean by old-age? Nope, Chiara wasn't going to spiral about that, she was going to say thank you and move along.

"Thanks," She said shortly. She never was the artist of the family, but a compliment was a compliment. If she was about to hang out with Isabel, she needed to learn to take them. Even if it was only for the next few hours. Chiara puffed out her cheeks, squeezed her eyes shut. It had been a long time since her last...date? Or was it a distraction? Whatever. Painting sometimes made her want to rip her hair out, and Isabela didn't, so. A welcome distraction it was. And who knew, there could be something more to it, if she was lucky. 

**Author's Note:**

> i dont know. i hope you enjoyed!
> 
> tumblr: urmomsstuntdouble


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